Crazy
by SuperDuperLights
Summary: I am crazy; the pills say so, they scream, "crazy, crazy, crazy!"
1. Prologue

I'm crazy.

The bottles of pills say so. My mothers' cautious eyes and quiet words say so. The dirty sheets, and blood under my nails, it all screams, "crazy, crazy, crazy!"

The walls screech in the dark, the windows rattle, rattle, rattle. I awake in a sweat, my eyes don't adjust in the dark because dark is everywhere and crazy, crazy, crazy is all I can see.

I read once a short story, a novella, an easy ten pages that still caused the whole class to groan; a little story about a woman who went crazy. The wallpaper moved, she saw a woman stuck, trapped in the yellow and her husband comes home and she is the woman, the woman is her and isn't that just crazy?

I didn't think it was scary, I thought it was fascinating. She went crazy and the whole class said "that was weird," and "what's the point?" What's the point of everything is what they should be asking, because what is the point in myths and fairytales? Just something to read: to spook you, to inspire you. No, because some myths are real. Werewolves are real; would you believe it? I do. I have to. I saw, I see, now I hear, close my eyes, close my ears, it's in my brain. Pop a pill; drink a spoonful of this, spoonful of that, _out like a lamp_.

Close my eyes, cover my ears, turn on the lights, but close the shades; I don't want to see outside.

I don't want to see the moon or the stars, close those shades! block out the sun. Some monsters can still come out in the daylight, can't they? Why not? Werewolves are real, possibilities are born. Everything, anything. What you've read late at night, what movies you've covered your eyes at; who's to say it's not all real, real, real.

Call me crazy, but I don't think I'm real anymore.

I float, float, float, float. What's this pill do? Oh, and what about this one? Mother has them all and she shares, shares, shares. Even when I say no, even when I hide under the covers, hide in the closet (maybe she won't look there), hide under the bed- **wait, no,** not under, never under. I'll have you know that monsters can indeed lurk under the bed. I won't be tricked.

I see red, red, red. Red walls (weren't they a nice purple?). Red desk, red lightening, red sheets, red hair (strawberry blonde, I thought). Red blood (under the nails, on the arms, legs, stomach).

_Red eyes_.

Red eyes, yes, that's where the red originates from. Red eyes in every dream, every blink.

Call me Lydia, no one else does anymore.

They all just stare, stare, stare.

Except, that is, Stiles.

He smiles. _What's there to smile about?_

He says, "Are you okay?" Offers a hand when I fall (tripped; **was** tripped; _did someone trip me?_).

"Of course, I'm okay," I snap, "leave me alone." I saunter away.

Saunter. S – A – U – N – T – E – R.

Alone. A – L – O – N – E.

Crazy. C – R – A – Z – Y.

I won the spelling bee in sixth grade. Mom came, she wore red. Stiles (Stiles Stilinski) blushed (red) and said "Wow, Lydia. You're really brilliant."

Smile. "Thank you." Walk Away.

He still blushes around me now. I ignore it and am very mean, mean, mean. _Why?_

Stiles is kind. I am crazy. Water is blue and my pills are white and my hair is strawberry blonde and my nails are red but it's not nail polish.

Stiles taps, taps, taps on my car window and wait, hasn't this happened before? I am crying because I think I might be crazy and the power of that word _crazy_ hits me.

"Lydia," he sounds very sad, "Lydia, are you okay? Do you want to talk about it? Come on, let's talk about it."

"Maybe I don't want to talk to you about it," I say through the tears, but it is too quiet, I am too late, I am a liar and it's a good thing he knows me so well, knows I am lying because now he is in the passenger seat of my very pretty blue, blue, blue car, and yes, thank you, I would like to talk about it.

He waits as I blow my nose, "I am crazy and I have the pills to prove it."

"Pills?"

"Crazy pills."

He waits until my eyes move away from my hands and move to look at his eyes because I am wondering _why isn't he talking?_

His smile is soft and his eyes are brown and he says very confidently, "Lydia Martin, you are not crazy."

But he is wrong because do normal people see red everywhere, do normal people dig their nails into their skin, do normal people hide in the closet when they hear a creak, hear a slam, hear a howl.

Stiles is still talking and I have not been listening and I feel the need to apologize but I squash it because if I didn't hear him still talking, if I can zone out and into my own mind with no knowledge of the transition then I must be crazy and I don't want him to think I am. I don't want to disappoint this boy. He believes I am not crazy and I will not ruin his hope.

"-and I would never think you are crazy. You can always talk to me, Lydia."

_I know, I do, I do, I do. I do know. How do I know? How do I know that? He is always there. I know that._

"I know."

Stiles and his smile is warm and strong and it pulls me up. I sit a little straighter in my seat and wipe under my eyes because I might be crazy, but I sure as hell am not going to look it.


	2. Chapter 1

Jerk awake. Breathe. Don't think _red_, think brown. Brown eyes, brown hair, nice smile, strong hands. _Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski._ I'm laughing because there were no nightmares and I'm beginning to think it might be because I fell asleep with the phone by my ear, and a warm voice that made its way to my heart.

I check the call history, and there it is. **Stiles Stilinski: 3 hours 37 minutes.**

I smile and move my eyes to the clock. 6:30 a.m. Sunday morning. Ah, the early bird gets the warm.

Hop out of bed, bounce in my step. Brush my teeth. Meet my own eyes in the mirror and hazel turns to r_ed_ and _crazy, crazy, crazy _is the whisper in my head. Crawl back into bed.

Mom finds me staring at the ceiling at 9 a.m. and says, "It's okay." Soothing voice. "Tomorrow you can get out of bed," Brushes back my hair, pats my head. Smile, "Here. Take four of these and close your eyes."

She leaves. Bottle of pills is left. I take six and close my eyes.

…

_Red, red, red, red, red, red, red red red red redredredredred._

…

The sky is dark and my room is dark and I am not happy in the dark. Feeling stiff, feeling paralyzed. Stretch toes, stretch fingers. Yawn. Blink. Arch back. Crack.

_DING._

Oh god, put it on mute. Lazily search bed with fingers. Bing-go! The needle in the haystack.

**Alert: New Message**

Press ok.

**Stiles Stilinski**

_10:49 p.m._

**You up?**

Why, yes I am. Almost fourteen hours of sleep and yes, I am up, up, up! Smile, smile, smile because no one else makes me smile but him. Jump out of bed, brush teeth again. Avoid mirror. Slide down the stairs. Chug the lemonade, devour the cold pizza. And I am ready I am awake I am on top of the whole world! I am still crazy but crazy is as crazy does and I am Lydia (crazy) Martin and I press **call**.

A warm and sleepy voice answers, "I take it you're awake."

Yes, I am for the first time all day! "Yes, Stiles. You don't sound so awake yourself, though." Cool, calm, collected, _crazy, crazy, crazy, cra_- stop. Concentrate.

I tune back in as a yawn comes through the phone, "-helping my dad all day. We're trying to clean out the basement. What have you been up to today, Lydia?" No. Let's not talk about me. Let's talk about you. Keep talking. Tell me about your day, every detail, every thought. How's your dad? How are you? You, not me. I am bad, I am crazy. "Lydia?" Stiles repeats. He sounds concerned, "You still there? You okay?"

"Yes, I'm still here." Barely here. Neither here nor there nor _really anywhere. Crazy._

A nice laugh, "I thought you might have fallen" yawn "asleep on me." On you? I wish. Around you, next to you, as long as it's by you, oh, I wish.

"You sound tired, Stilinski. You should get some sleep."

"No, no, it's fine. I am totally awake." Yawn. Shared laughter. "Maybe you're right."

"I'm always right." Always, always, always right, wrong, left, off center, bull's eye, _crazy_. I am always. Very reliable I am, an always.

"Are you going to get some sleep tonight?" I laugh then cover my mouth. "I hope that's a yes. Will you be okay?"

"I'll be better than okay. Stop smothering me, Stilinski." He laughs and doesn't try to cover it.

"Just worried about you, Lydia. Call me back if you need me." Oh, don't give me that option. I am selfish, I will take it.

"Goodnight, Stiles. Sleep tight." I am feeling affectionate and I hope it shines through. _No, I don't. _Yes, I do. _No_. Yes. _No_. Yes. _N- _Yes Yes Yes YES I DO.

"Night, Lydia." Click. End. The End. Goodnight, goodbye, so long.

…

I am staring at my ceiling again but this time it is 2 a.m. My fan keeps my attention and around it goes. Motion. Movement. No stopping unless I (_switch_) turn it off.

I am wearing the clothes I have worn the last two days. I feel dirty, _naughty, mud, R-rated, mucky_.

I walk to the bathroom and turn on the shower. Avoid the mirror. Take off my clothes. "Where's that scratch from?" Why am I talking aloud? Conversations are reserved for my head.

Warm water, smooth soap, clear skin. Running water, nice rhythm on my back, in my hair, hits my butt, my calves, my feet. Clear, clear, clear. Blink. _Red, red, red._ Scream. No, shush, I don't need Mom and pills. Blink. Clear. Relief.

Scrub a dub dub. Hum. Lather, rinse, repeat. Try not to blink. Shampoo in my eye. Blink.

_Red_.

Try to breathe easy, but fuck, r_ed_. Where is the source? No source. Must be coming from under my skin. Yes, that's it. Under. _Let it out and it will stop_.

Fingernails and frantic. Scratch, scratch, scratch. Stomach, thighs, breasts, neck, arms, elbows. _Real Red_.

Flows like a stream and maybe now it will stop. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe, baby, you're crazy.

_Crazy, crazy, crazy_.

Worn out.

…

Awake and it's bright. Bright, bright lights and an overhead clock straight ahead.

5:23 a.m.

Bright, freak out because why is it so bright why why why?

Where am I where is my mom why are there so many bandages where is Stiles where is my sanity and will it be back soon please stop I don't want to be crazy no, no, no, _yes_.

Breathe. Smile. Sleep.

…

_Red_.

…

Steady hum of voices brings me back to reality. Eyes wide open and door wide open and there are people, so many people, walking, talking, moving, speaking, laughing, crying. Hum, hum, hum of people.

3:28 p.m.

Head: heavy

Neck: cramped

Throat: dry

Breasts: itchy (bandage doesn't allow proper scratching)

Arms: Dead weight

Right hand: Stretch it

Left hand: sweaty

Turn head. _Stiles_. Sweet Stiles. Looks me in the eyes, squeezes my hand, and oh, oh, oh, what a sweet smile.


	3. Chapter 2

I have missed the first two days of the last week of my sophomore year.

It isn't much of a big deal; those two days were study days in preparation for finals and I get A's on my finals, always have. I awake from a drug induced sleep Wednesday morning and as I leave to take my first test, I find my mom waiting at the front door, holding the bottle of pills the Doctors have given me after my most recent hospital visit and she says, "You're smart; you'll do well, even if everything's a little fuzzy." I am still feeling fuzzy from the pills I took last night and without thinking, I let her grab my outstretched hand and put five pills in it before pushing me out the door.

As I pull into a parking spot at school, I realize the pills are still clenched in my hand and I throw them on the ground and stomp on them with my high heels.

…

I have ten minutes before finals start so I make a stop in the bathroom to freshen up. When my eyes meet the reflection in the mirror, I wish I had taken those little white pills.

_Red_.

_Red__**R**__edRedR__**e**__dRedRe__**d**__Red__**Red**_

I try not to scream, I really, really do. I am no damsel in distress, and I am not an attention whore but there is red, red, _red_ in my eyes and on my nails and on my teeth and why did I not take those pills why did I think I could win at my own game why why why!

"Lydia? Lydia, are you okay?"

Big brown eyes but not the big brown eyes I love, love, love.

Allison looks very concerned and I am sitting on the floor of the bathroom with my back against the wall and who broke the mirror? and oh, oh, _oh_ it was me, my hand is bloody, and I broke the mirror, it was me.

"Lydia, stand up. I'll help you. Are you hurt?"

Allison is wrapping her arm around my waist to help me walk, and Allison, she is the one who knew about monsters and didn't tell me. What happened to best friends and sharing secrets? And yes, I am hurt, but no, I don't need your help. I yank myself out of her grip and she looks confused.

"Lydia… I'm just trying to help you. Let's go to the nurse."

"I'm fine." Speak cold, don't let her affect you. No, no, no, not a best friend, not my best friend. "I'm fine, Allison, thank you. I have to get to English."

"I'm going there too, we can walk together."

"No, thank you."

Saunter away. S – A –U – N – T – E – R. I still got it.

I walk in right at the bell, Allison two steps behind me and even after a cold dismissal, she is still trying to catch my eye and ask what's wrong. And why can't she just stop, I don't want her to talk to me, no, no.

I sit front row because I am first, top, I am going to ace this test.

"Lydia." A whisper, barely a breathe and look who it is.

"Jackson." Face forward, tests are being passed out and if there is talking, you'll get an automatic zero and I am not a zero.

"Lydia, I've been trying to talk to you. You know I'm moving on Saturday." Saturday: three days away and then goodbye. Goodbye to first love, certainly not first kiss, but first love and first goodbye. "I think we should talk."

I don't look at him because I am afraid to see red, "Jackson. I don't want to talk to you. We're not back together and you don't owe me any explanation. Have fun in London."

"Yeah, Lydia, I'm sure I'll be having a lot of fun."

Tests are slapped on our desks and I jump in my seat. Our English teacher gives us a cold stare and we, in return, give charming smiles. We're too much alike and I don't want a goodbye but I definitely don't want a second chance, especially with too many miles between us.

…

Stiles is waiting at my locker at the end of the day and I fight to keep my smile normal but I can't and thank God I have great teeth because my smile is shining and wide and bright and white and I am happy.

"How are you feeling?"

Great now that you're here.

"Good, Stiles. How are you?"

"What'd the Doctors say? Did they give you more medication? I don't think they should be giving you so many different kinds."

The Doctors said I need to go to therapy and they gave me some medication but it's my mom who is providing the variety of pills.

"God, Stilinski. You sound like my mom… or how my mom should sound. I'm _fine_." I grab his hand and he doesn't try to keep his smile normal and now he looks how I imagine I did when I spotted him. "Let's celebrate being done with half of our finals by you treating me to ice cream."

Stiles is laughing and he agrees to paying for my ice cream and his laugh and his promise make me smile and I don't fight it this time and I am squeezing his hand and he squeezes mine back before he opens the passenger door for me. I feel light and full of hope but the few seconds where I am alone in his car and he is walking to his side of the car, I catch a look of myself in the side mirror and my eyes are red and I blink fast because Stiles compliments my eyes all the time and I can't let them be different when he's around. I am blinking, and blinking, blinking, blinking.

"Got something in your eyes?" Stiles is putting the car into drive and glancing at me, squinting like he'll be able to see an eyelash or something equally small stuck in my eyes.

I smile, "No, just testing my mascara out; just trying to see if it's… durable."

Stiles laughs and I let out a relieved sigh because the red is gone and it's just plain old Lydia staring back at me.

…

Cherry use to be my favorite ice cream flavor, but I order chocolate because I don't want to see anymore red than I have been recently. Stiles gets a large vanilla in a cone and he keeps licking it to make sure it doesn't drip on his hands. He misses a small, melting part and a raindrop of vanilla ice cream drops on his thumb. He lets out a moan of failure and I imagine that I lick off the vanilla on his thumb for him just so I can hear him moan again.

I get up and get him a napkin instead.

On my way to the front counter, where the napkin dispenser is kept, I hear a **splat**! behind me and I turn around. Stiles is staring open-mouth at his ice cream that has fallen off the cone and onto the floor. I giggle as he looks at me. He is still in shock.

"I'll get you another?" I say, raising my voice to be heard over the buzz of voices in the shop.

He gives a pathetic nod and I smile because it is too cute, and how does he manage to be so adorable and so hot at the same time.

Hot? Hot. _Hot_.

Stiles is… hot? Since when?

"Hot." I test out.

"What was that?" The ice cream employee is staring at me.

"Oh. I said, one large vanilla in a cone, please."

The employee gives a slow nod and turns to grab a cone. I grab a couple napkins because I know we'll need them. The reflection I see in the napkin dispenser is of a happy, smiling girl and wow, I am that happy, smiling girl. The employee hands me the large vanilla and I hand him two dollars and turn around, only to smack right into someone.

"I'm so sorry, miss. Are you all right?"

The vanilla is on the floor but I don't even hear the shout from Stiles because the man I've rammed into is wearing a red shirt and I just- red. Red, red, _red_ is my trigger but how do you stop a color?

"Lydia!" Stiles is making his way to me at the counter but I am already sliding to the ground and I can't help it, my nails are digging into my arm because I don't want to see this _red_. Red that is everywhere and it all started with a shirt and Stiles, sweet Stiles, is kneeling beside me and he lifts my head to meet his eyes and

Brown eyes meet my wet eyes. And I sob, sob, sob the whole car ride home.


	4. Chapter 3

It is the first day of summer; more importantly, the first Friday of summer. And I am in my room.

Finals are over and everyone is happy, but I don't see any reason to be so over the moon. Summer means I can stay at home: I don't have any obligations and that allows me to be all alone, all the time. Alone.

My mother has a different trip planned every week for the next three months, and my father only calls when he feels guilty (Christmas and my birthday). I've been alone a lot ever since my parents' divorce and this is the first time its upset me. Now is the time for huge parties and bonfires and alcohol, like all the other previous summers and parent-free weekends.

But I have yet to send out a single text and I haven't gotten one either.

Becoming crazy really shows you who your real friends are.

…

I hear the doorbell ring at 8 p.m. It's a distant noise behind my mom's whirlwind of packing and randomly shouting at me about where this-or-that is. As if I would borrow her two hundred dollar ring that's as tacky as it comes. I don't get my good taste from her.

I lazily lift myself from my bed and make the long walk to the front door. Out of habit, I avoid the mirrors that hang on every wall. I don't want to break another one when I freak out and "imagine things" as my Doctor would say. It's actually difficult to ignore them all, we have too many: ceiling to floor length, purple or green or blue, with jewels, and diamonds or just plain wood. They are _everywhere_. I asked Mom to take them down and she laughed in my face. These mirrors that line the walls use to be a great comfort to me as my mother and I use to be very vain. Now it's just my mother.

I make it to the bottom of the stairs (all mirrors still intact) and slide in my fuzzy socks to the door. Stiles stands on the other side of the door, holding a stack of movies in one hand and a large bag that has **Del Taco **on the side in the other. His balance doesn't seem to be holding up too well as everything seems to be swaying, so I grab the bag of food and he shifts to even out the movies to both hands.

There is a beat of silence where we both shuffle our feet before, "So, uh, you busy tonight?"

I take a long, exaggerated look around me and say, "Hmm, I don't think so."

…

I am practically sitting on Stiles lap when we start the movie. Well, half his lap. My left side is on his right side and I don't know how we ended up like this. All I know is he said something that made me laugh and I said something that made him blush, and then it seemed like there was entirely too much room between us and the blanket seemed too small to be stretched across such a wide distance and I shifted a little, he shifted a little, and there was a lot of shifting.

"To be a happy and stable teenager girl," my therapist told me at our first session this morning, "and in order to not have another episode, you have to focus on the positive things and overcome what triggers the negative things to happen."

So I try not to let my mind think of how my mom didn't say goodbye before she left for her flight (Stiles and I were eating tacos when we heard the front door slam and the car start), or how a girl in one of the opening previews had _red _hair, and I instead focus on the fact the my left side is on top of Stiles right side and our hands have brushed twelve times since the opening credits rolled. I don't dwell on the fact that Allison is leaving for Europe on Sunday morning and hasn't said goodbye or that Jackson leaves in the morning and he wanted to talk and I said no. Was that the right choice? I don't know. But I do know that right now, next to a sweet boy with brown eyes, I am a happy and stable teenage girl. And yes, I might just be feeling so content because of the drugs I've been swallowing, but so what?

…

I feel my head clearing as the movie ends and I know the pills are wearing off but I don't want to wake Stiles. He's asleep with his head on top of mine and his arm wrapped lightly over my shoulders. I'm curled up next to him and I'm too comfortable to be thinking of white pills, and pink pills, and small pills, large pills, pills that make me dizzy or pills that make me fuzzy and I know I should go and get them but I am not going to. Not now. I won't ruin this moment by downing four prescriptions.

I blink _red_ and shake my head until everything is normal.

I blink and the world is swallowed up into a dark nothing and I put the heels of my hands into my eyes until I can see the soft blue of the blanket covering Stiles and me.

I get the feeling of hands grabbing at my feet and I kick and shift until my entire body is rolled into the fetal position.

I blink and I see dark shadows in the corners of the room, figures moving too quickly to focus on and I blink furiously and continuously until my eyes water and I stand because maybe I do need to swallow those pillows but I trip on the blanket and fall, barely catching myself with my hands, saving my face from pain but the blanket has fallen on my legs and I am tangled up and I kick, kick, kick and let out a frustrated scream because I am stuck and trapped and I am blinking so fast that _red_ is moving in and everywhere and where are my pills?

Hands land on my shoulders and I shift to make the hands let go because the floor is red and I have to stand up before _red_ swallows me and damn it, it's Stiles and his hands that are helping me up and I woke him up and sorry, sorry, _sorry_, "I'm sorry!"

"Lydia, are you okay?" Stiles is concerned, like he always is around me and I feel pathetic, a tangled mess of hair and tears and wrinkled clothes. Feeling pathetic leads me to pathetic, gut wrenching tears and Stiles tells me it's okay, everything's okay, you're okay, Lydia, shhh, calm down.

I shove Stiles away because I want to be okay and okay people don't need to be comforted and okay people don't sob hysterically after getting caught in a mess of blankets and okay people aren't haunted be a color so I must act okay so I shoved, shoved him away.

He looks confused and a little sad and I feel suddenly lost without his arms but old Lydia won't feel bad about it and old Lydia wasn't crazy so I mumble something about being thirsty and run away to the kitchen to down a glass of water with four large pills that promise drowsiness.

I am sick of new, crazy Lydia so I try to drown her out with two more pills and a shot of whiskey.

Stiles walks in when I slam the glass cup down and I feel like a kid getting caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

New Lydia says to apologize but old Lydia says screw it and crazy Lydia says _red_ and I sit on the floor and stare at Stiles and ask him to leave.

He nods and exits the kitchen and I wait for the slam of the door, but when I compose myself and stand up a few minutes later, I find that he has fallen asleep in the entryway. I go and get the blue blanket and drape it over both of us. I am curled up next to him again and his arm has found its way back to my shoulders and it feels like we are still on the couch and the last half an hour didn't happen but I know it did, because the fear, and guilt, the pathetic feeling, the taste of whiskey, and the hard floor under me are reminders that Stiles deserves much more than new, old, crazy and me.


	5. Chapter 4

**Athens, Greece**

**July 3, 2012**

_Lydia,_

_I know I left without saying goodbye. I didn't know how to say goodbye to you. I don't know where we stand. You're my best friend, Lyd. I know we can work things out but maybe being in different countries for a summer will give us time to cool down. _

_Europe is amazing. I'm sending you mental pictures of all the hot guys I meet. I know you're probably getting with all the hot ones in Beacon Hills. Hook up with a stranger for me. See ya August 28__th__!_

_Allison_

…

**July 4****th****, 2012**

Mom kisses me on the forehead and heads off to some business party. She is wearing a deep blue dress and waving around the American flag. I am left on my bed, feeling fuzzy and lonely.

Fireworks go off at ten and the lights from outside my window set the whole room into a mix of colors. Bright flashes of green, blue, purple…

_Red._

I close my eyes to stop the feeling of being on a roller coaster.

The neighbors next door are throwing a party and there a cheers every two minutes, a constant chorus of happy screams.

I fall asleep at 11 and am woken every twenty minutes from the feeling of someone standing over me. There is no one there, of course, and I give up on sleeping when the clock blinks 2:17 a.m. and I hear the front door open. There is the sound of something heavy hitting the ground and a loud yelp that makes me shoot up from my position of lying down. My clock beeps 2:20 a.m., and I grab the bottle of pills and swallow two before swinging my feet of the bed. My laptop that I left open earlier on iTunes is playing music I left on.

_Sippin' whiskey out the bottle, not thinkin' bout tomorrow, si__nging sweet home Alabama all summer long…_

I stand and leave my room, leaning my upper body over the railing that looks over the front entryway, "Mom?" My voice is so quiet I can barely hear it.

A deep voice taunts, "Lydia?" That was definitely not my mom.

"Who is that?"

The voice speaks from directly behind me this time, and I spin around, "Don't you recognize my voice?"

Peter Hale stands directly in front of me.

I let out a scream so loud that it causes ripples to pass through him until his figure is deformed and then, finally, disappears in a cloud of smoke and my eyes shoot open and my throat is raw and I am staring at the ceiling.

I don't fall asleep until the clock reads 5:34 a.m.

…

**July 9****th****, 2012**

I haven't washed my hair in three days because I saw blood in the shower and I haven't smiled in a week because I haven't seen Stiles.

I'm afraid I'm really going insane or I am, I don't know. Is there a test to determine how mentally ill you are? If so, please let me know because I fear I have reached a new low by letting my hair get oily.

"Lydia," My mother's voice is a constant since she realized that I now **look** like I'm crazy, "doesn't a shower sound nice?" She is forcing me to stand up and her hands guide me towards the bathroom. She says, "Let's get in the shower." She has already started the water and she eases the curtain open. I struggle to get off my tank top and then my shorts and underwear and my mom is helping me into the shower and as soon as the water hits my naked body, I let out a shrill scream that causes my mother to let go of my hand and cover her ears. "Lydia, stop that!" She is screaming and her hand snaps off the water and I jump out and sink to the floor.

My mother looks very angry but I don't care because I do not like the shower, no, no, no. I feel too vulnerable, I don't like the feel, I see blood and my mom is throwing a towel at me and then she is gone and I am alone.

…

I'm alone for several hours and though I can hear my mother entertaining guests downstairs, she never appears in my bathroom again. I'm huddled on the ground with only my towel wrapped around my shoulders. The room is very dark and I am very sad.

The doorbell rings downstairs amidst the laughter and chime of glasses and silverware. There is a knock on my bedroom door a few moments later but I do not reply. The sound of footsteps and I shrink farther away from the door. There is a knock on my bathroom door and a sweet, warm voice says, "Lydia?"

"Stiles?" I call out.

"Lydia, are you okay? Are you ready to go?"

"Go?"

"To the movies… remember you said you'd see the new superman with me?"

"Oh…" I do remember now, "I'm sorry I can't go… I haven't washed my hair." The door peeks open and I shriek. Stiles laughs and his hand pops through the door, throwing something at me. A baseball hat. Really. "That's sweet, Stilinski, but I still can't go: I don't have any clothes to wear." A sundress is thrown at me and hits me in the face. "There is no way I'm wearing these together."

Forty-five minutes later, I'm wearing a yellow sundress and a baseball hat, standing in line to buy tickets for Man of Steel. There is a couple in front of Stiles and me, and they are making out hardcore. Every time the line moves forward, I cough a little and the two of them step forward in unison, not breaking apart. It made Stiles laugh at first but now he rubs the back of his neck and looks at my feet. I stand on my tiptoes to see how many people are in front of us and there are at least five groups. I sigh and land back on my feet.

When we finally make it to the ticket booth, the movie is already ten minutes in and the girl behind the counter pops her gum, "Next!"

Stiles takes a big step forward eagerly and I bounce behind him, "Two for Man of Steel, please." He looks towards me and smiles, running a hand through his hair and I do a quick double take. When did he start letting his hair grow out?

"Sold out," the girl snaps her gum again.

"Oh," Stiles blinks and turns towards me, "well what should we see then?" I glance at the movies playing for a long minute and shrug. He flicks my hat and asks for tickets to some romantic comedy that I'd been eyeing. I hide my grin. We get the tickets and make our way to our theater. We're twenty minutes early and the only ones in the theater so we sit down center and Stiles bounces his knee before jumping up to get popcorn. "Do you want anything else?" He asks me.

"Hm, how about a slurpee?" I am suddenly giddy to be here, happy to be with Stiles, smiling because what else can I do around him?

"One slurpee coming your way!" He gives me a thumbs up, stops mid thumb, and dashes to get our snacks for the movie. I giggle and watch his plaid shirt disappear. I'm alone now and look at my phone; fifteen minutes to go and the previews start. I adjust my hat as more people make their way in the theater.

There is a whisper, "Lydia?" A mob of girls two rows behind me laugh and an older couple to my left exchange a kiss. "Lydia?" My name has never made me cringe so much.

I speak out of the corner of my mouth, "Yes?"

"Please focus your attention of the screen, Lydia." My eyes lift from my lap and my gaze settles on the screen. There is a video clip of me and I take a wild look around at the people in the theater, who all are engaged in conversation. The video is me, right at this moment. I am in a yellow sundress and baseball cap and the people around me are happy, happy, happy and I look very frightened. There is movement in the corner of the screen and I stare with wide eyes as an unidentified figure with bright _red_ eyes makes their way down the aisle and comes to a stop at the end of the row behind me. I take my eyes of the screen and look to where the figure should be, but there is no one. When my eyes make my way back to the screen, the figure is looming behind me, its hands on my shoulders and I shudder though there is no one. _Red, red, red_ eyes pierce mine through the screen and hands make their way around my throat and this time, this time, I feel it and I scratch at my neck.

"Hey Lydia, I thought you wanted that slurpee?" Soft laughter and I turn my head, my hands placed on my lap and there is Stiles, smiling at me, eyes twinkling.

"Wha-what?" I look around and there are more people than before surrounding Stiles and I, laughing and smiling and there are "Aww's" everywhere. The movie is happening, and I watch as the onscreen couple lean in and kiss.

Stiles is smiling at me still and he swats at my cap, "What? This movie not good enough for the love movie critic herself?" He takes a drink from my slurpee and I grab it back.

"Get your own, Stilinski," I hide my smirk at his laughter and focus my attention on the generic love story on screen. There is flirting and flowers, typical lovers spat, and when the lead boy runs after the love of his life, I reach my hand out and find Stiles' hand waiting for me. He turns his head to look at me but I keep my face forward. He pulls the baseball cap off my head, and my hair tumbles down, and I turn to look at the boy beside me. He holds my eye and squeezes our hands. I squeeze back and snatch popcorn from the tub on his lap.

"Get your own, Martin." I laugh loud and someone shushes me but the giggles continue and Stiles squeezes my hand once more.

* * *

**A/N**

**Hey everyone! I'm Meg and here's the new chapter I just finished! I was working on it as I watched the newest Teen Wolf. Lydia and Stiles, guys, Lydia and Stiles kissing. I'm still overwhelmed. Hope you enjoy!**


	6. Chapter 5

**July 18, 2012**

Night time is the worst time because night time is Lydia-all-alone-time. I make Prada sleep at the end of my bed by carrying her into my room after dinner and locking the door.

It's not even 10 p.m. yet but it's not like I have anything to do or stay up for or even get out of bed for except the mashed potatoes downstairs but I already ate. I spent time painting my nails bright blue and I spent time painting my toenails bright blue, too. I do a bit of stretching and five sit-ups before I text Stiles and ask him to bring me ice cream.

I am trying to focus on my summer reading for AP French when I discover my phone under the covers and see a bright…

**ALERT: 3 NEW MESSAGES**

**Scott McCall**

_9:16 p.m. Stay inside tonight. Full moon._

**Stiles Stilinski**

_9:25 p.m. I have to watch Scott tonight. Rain check?_

**Ashley Cloven**

_9:38 p.m. Styrofoam party Dream Club! I can pick u up in 10 min? ;)_

…

I figure _why not_ because Stiles isn't here to tell me bad idea. I climb into Ashley Cloven's sparkly new white BMW and smile though it feels stiff with all the makeup I've piled on. This summer I've been too lazy, too wrapped around Stiles to worry about my appearance. But Ashley expects Lydia Martin not crazy Lydia. Which is why I can't breathe in a little strapless dress and my ears are crying having to listen to the Top 40 countdown.

"I'm so excited we're hanging out again, Lyds! We haven't seen each other all summer! I have to catch you up on everything that's been happening. Whoa! I love that dress." Ashley is a blonde, perky cheerleader who used to be my source of gossip. I don't know how she knows everything but she does and it's good to be friends with someone like that, as long as I don't tell her anything. So I keep my mouth shut about being crazy and seeing _red_ everywhere. "Woo! Could you grab my purse? I have a flask in there and I want to make sure it's full so we have enough at the club."

A wave by a bouncer lets us into the pulsing music environment and Ashley cheers and grabs my hand. Strobe lights shine in every direction and people are packed against each other. I nearly cry when the lights flicker to_ red_ but Ashley turns to make sure I'm still behind her and I send a stunning smile her way. We end up in the middle of a mob of college guys who cheer and Ashley cheers and I manage my usual smirk with little difficulty.

There is a lot of cheering but I don't really mind because of the flask Ashley and I keep passing between us. We're dancing with college boys and its summer and Ashley winks at me as one of them leads her away. I am left alone in the middle of a mosh pit of tan, muscled 18 years or older hot guys and I am totally not thinking of brown sweet eyes and hand holding.

One of the tan, muscled and hot stands directly in front of me and the piercing eyes and spiked hair screams Jackson; he places his right hand on my left hip and says, "Hey. I'm Sean."

Smile and flip hair because I am "Lydia."

…

Somehow we end up back at my house and Prada yips, yips and I thank my lucky stars that my mom is at another party. Somehow Sean knows where my room is and my AP French book is shoved to the floor. I am straddling a boy's lap and this boy is kissing my neck and I almost cry at not being alone and am so happy and when said boy stands and says he needs to use the bathroom, I fluff my hair and adjust my boobs. A beep, beep follows his exit and where's my phone?

**Stiles Stilinski**

_12:03 p.m._ _I know you might be asleep but I just hope you were okay tonight. I'll be over tomorrow to pick you up for breakfast. Sleep tight Lydia (:_

And there goes my heart. Beating, beating so loud and Sean is back and look at that, who's Stiles? What's a Stiles? Stiles is too good for me and I need someone who is like me and Sean is making my back arch and is this really happening? I see no red and red is always at night.

Contrary to popular belief, the only boy I've had sex with Jackson and the only boy who's ever seen me naked is Jackson (not counting Stiles and half of the police force). But no worries, I totally know what I'm doing when Sean pushes me back on the bed and well, there goes my underwear hitting my desk and I kick one shoe one way, and the other shoe another way. I reach under his shirt and pull it off and I don't even look to see where it lands because here comes his jeans and there goes my dress and good thing I didn't wear a bra because I'd probably never be able to find it after this crazy strip down. The only thing left is this beautiful boy's underwear, which I reach to take off but he is already moving his body down, down, down and then his face is between my legs and oh, oh, _oh_, what a sweet feeling.

…

Prada yips close to my face at ten in the morning and Sean is gone and I am naked and I see my dress hanging off a lamp. Someone is stomping up the stairs and my mom is never awake before noon after a party so when Stiles strolls into my room, I'm not exactly surprised, just extremely aware of the fact that my boobs are hidden under only a single sheet of satin.

Stile sits at the foot of my bed, "Hey sleeping beauty, I thought we agreed to meet at 9. I've been calling for the past forty minutes."

I manage to smile and slip further under the covers, "Late night, I'll be down in a minute."

"I don't trust you." He smiles and shit, he is reaching for the sheet, "You're just going to fall back asleep."

"No way, I'm totally awake." I grip the sheet.

"I don't know, Lydia. Your bed is too tempting to resist."

And he grabs the sheet and lifts and I am gripping the sheet and am being lifted so my boobs and front side of my body are still covered but my naked back is on display. Stiles opens his mouth to ask me why I am naked but stops as he spots Sean's shirt on top of my windowsill. He turns his head back towards me and there are his eyes, looking a mix of sadness and frustration, and I feel guilty and I don't know why but I am Lydia Martin and before I know it, I say, "Well, are we going or not?" And I shove the sheet off my body and Stiles opens his mouth in shock and almost like he's about to say something but thinks better off it and he turns around and I get dressed.

…

Eggs sunny-side up and a tall glass of orange juice and I feel good as new. My hair is in a sloppy ponytail because I didn't have time to brush the sex hair away. Stiles ordered more food than everybody combined at the diner, but hasn't finished any of it. He chugs milk and looks at me with raised eyebrows and sad eyes and I nearly snap at him but restrain myself. What does he expect? Because I hold his hand, I can't have fun? I am Lydia and I'm trying to stay Lydia and not go back to crazy Lydia.

I ask for the check and before I can get my wallet, Stiles has his out and doesn't let me say a word. "It's mostly all mine anyway…"

I nod and watch him pay and then we head back to his car.

We're driving down the road and the light changes from green, to yellow, and ends with _red _and we stop. "Are you mad at me?" Not that I care.

"No, why would I be?"

"Why shouldn't you be?" He raises his eyebrows.

"All in a good fun."

"Right."

_Red_ to green and he speeds. How does a sheriff's son know how to speed? I giggle and Stiles glances over but doesn't say anything.

We pull into my driveway as my mom leaves the front door. She raises her hand in a wave and gets in her car. We watch as she drives away and Stiles turns the radio down and says, "Wanna hang out with Scott and I tonight?" He doesn't look at me and I bite my lip in frustration.

"Sure."

"Okay, uh. You can come over at 8 or so."

"All right. Thanks for the food."

"Yeah. I'll see you later."

I hop out of the car and he doesn't drive away until I shut the front door behind me.

Its noon and I have eight hours before I have to do anything so I settle down on the couch and decide to take a quick cat nap.

…

_REDREDREDREdredredredredred. _**R E D**._ redredredred._

…

I jerk awake and feel very cold, cold, cold and the clock reads 8:12 p.m. and Prada is curled into a ball at my feet and I have a missed call from Scott. I jump off the couch and stuff my feet into a pair of sandals and grab my purse and swing open the door and there, standing before me, is Derek Hale.

Derek does a toothy grin and puts his hand on the doorframe, "Got a minute?"


End file.
